


like strawberry syrup

by pennyofthewild



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Future-fic, Gen, University Setting, this is a gen fic I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 19:38:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennyofthewild/pseuds/pennyofthewild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[On Satsuki’s first day at university, she finds Aida Riko in her Psychology 101 class, and  immediately gravitates towards her with the enthusiasm born of seeing a familiar face in an ocean of unknown ones.]</p>
<p>In which Satsuki and Riko end up at the same university, and: once a basketball junkie, always a basketball junkie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like strawberry syrup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [troisroyaumes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/troisroyaumes/gifts).



> Satsuki-centric, with lots of Riko and a dash of Daiki, because AoMomo is like hot-chocolate-with-marshmallows on a cold winter day and I honestly could not resist. But, in the spirit of Touch Pass, this is a gen fic!
> 
> Also: there needs to be more appreciation for Satsuki and Riko in this fandom!
> 
> The lovely troisroyaumes turned this into a podfic; you can listen to her read it [[here]](http://basketballpoetsociety.tumblr.com/post/67631385497/challenge-no-47-like-strawberry-syrup)! :))

On Satsuki’s first day at university, she finds Aida Riko in her Psychology 101 class, and  immediately gravitates towards her with the enthusiasm born of seeing a familiar face in an ocean of unknown ones, calling, “Hey, Coach,” her voice accidentally too loud, turning several heads in the vicinity and causing an irritable scowl to blossom on Riko’s face.

“You’re lucky the professor isn’t here yet, Momoi-san,” Riko says, lifting her head to look up at Satsuki when Satsuki reaches her, looking frankly disapproving behind the reading glasses perched on her nose.

“Momoi-san?” Satsuki repeats, “good lord, I think we’re past formalities like that by now, don’t you?” She points at herself, “Satsuki,” she says, as if Riko is a very small child, “and I’m going to call you Coach, or Riko-senpai, and even Riko-chan, sometimes, and you aren’t going to mind.” She tilts her head. “You look awfully cute in glasses, Riko-chan,” and she gives Riko an enormous smile.

Riko sighs and moves her books and bag to make room for Satsuki at the desk.

***

Psychology is the only class they have together, Satsuki being a freshman and Riko a sophomore, but when Satsuki enters the gym in the afternoon, she is pleasantly surprised to find Riko, clipboard in hand and whistle around her neck, standing on the basketball court.

“I’m gonna sign up,” Satsuki announces brightly, and Riko grumbles, “we’ve already got a manager,” and Satsuki shakes her head.

“Oh, no,” she says, “I’m going to sign up as a _player_ ,” and she revels in the mixture of surprise and –is that jealousy? – that crosses Riko’s face.

***

Satsuki makes the team easily; she never really stopped playing; years of baby-sitting Daiki  were bound to come in handy (and have some effect) after all – and Satsuki accepts the jersey – eight – and the position – point guard (no surprise there) – with no small amount of pride.

Riko gives her a nod and a smile, eyebrows slightly lifted, as if to say, _this is where it starts_ , and Satsuki can’t help but give a cheeky grin in return. _Of course_.

Riko blows on her whistle, hard, and tosses the ball upward for the tip-off; Satsuki bends her knees and jumps, up, up, up, her fingers wrapping around the ball’s girth in exultant glee when she is at the top.

***

When Satsuki slides into the seat opposite Riko at the library, the older girl gives her a tired smile. There are shadows under her eyes and her mascara is smudged; Satsuki leans over the table to wipe a particularly black smear off Riko’s cheek. Riko swats her hand impatiently away. Satsuki laughs.

“How is your essay coming along?” Riko asks, setting her pen down and stretching her arms over her head. Hers looks about done, Satsuki notes, glancing over the sheets spread over the table, covered in Riko’s neat, meticulous kanji.

“I’m kind of stuck,” Satsuki admits, sliding her bag off her shoulder and setting it down. She sifts through her files, pulling out her half-finished essay and setting it on the table. “I’ve done the first part, but I don’t really get the second part of the question.” She looks at Riko, sticking her lower lip petulantly outwards and deliberately widening her eyes.

Riko gives her an incredulous look, sighs, and gives up trying to resist, gesturing for Satsuki to hand over her paper.

“Give it here,” she says heavily, and Satsuki claps her hands.

“Yes!” she exclaims, “thank you, senpai!”

Riko huffs and narrows her eyes. _Flattery will get you nowhere_ , her expression says. Satsuki giggles.

***

One Saturday a month or so into term, Satsuki meets up with Daiki for coffee – because he’d sent half-a-dozen increasingly petulant texts over the last week about _how you don’t care about me anymore Satsuki_ and what’s _got you so busy huh_?

He’s waiting for her at the train station; when she comes up, running late and breathless, he gives her a once-over, clicks his tongue and says, “What’s with the crop top?”

Satsuki sticks _her_ tongue out at him and says, “whatever, _Dad_.”

“I’m not your dad,” Daiki mutters. Satsuki ignores him.

The café they go to has outdoor seating, and there’s a pretty little fountain gurgling in the middle of the courtyard. Satsuki stands with her arms folded, pointedly, till Daiki thinks to pull a chair out for her; she says, “and you wonder why no-one will go out with you,” and he rolls his eyes.

A cool spring breeze ruffles their hair and snatches at Satsuki’s skirt, and the sakura blossoms lining the boulevard are bursting with color.

Satsuki is idly flipping through the menu wondering if she wants something hot or cold when Daiki says, “you’re looking good, Satsuki,” and when she looks up, surprised, he nods at her arms, at the new-found definition to her deltoids,  her biceps, her forearms, and Satsuki flashes him a bright, flirtatious grin, feeling a little silly and a little foolish, because it’s _Daiki_ , but he blushes, dull red spreading under the brown of his skin and Satsuki pauses, taken aback, and they look at each other for a long moment (rather like two characters in a shoujou manga), and then Daiki clears his throat and says,

“we should play sometime, you and I,” and he raises an eyebrow at her, “to see if you’ve got the skill to go with the muscle,” and Satsuki laughs, clear, full-throated.

“Oh, you are _so on_ ,” and Daiki joins her laughter, his baritone blending with her soprano, earlier awkwardness forgotten.

***

Maybe she’s imagining it, Satsuki thinks, but Riko seems to work her harder than the other girls, instructions curt and to the point, criticism blunt, sometimes nearly to the point of harshness.

After practice, Satsuki is usually too exhausted to move, collapsing onto the bench with her towel slung around her neck and her knees weak with fatigue.

“Because I know you can do better,” Riko tells her, brown eyes shrewd and dark, when Satsuki asks her _why_ , and Satsuki wants to retort that Riko’s _never seen her play before, so what is she talking about_ , but Riko’s eyes glint dangerously, daring her to argue, so that she can assign Satsuki suicides – sprints the length of the court – and so Satsuki bites her tongue and nods – but Riko assigns her the suicides anyway.

Later, during one of their away games, Satsuki makes a midcourt three-pointer that cinches the third quarter, bringing their lead up to a full twenty points; Satsuki, punching her fist into the air, catches sight of Riko; Riko is smiling, and when Satsuki catches her eye, Riko shrugs, lifts her eyebrows, and _winks_.

***

Post-practice on a Friday afternoon, Satsuki is leaving the locker rooms after a long, hot shower, her hair smelling of strawberry syrup, when she finds Riko still in the gym, standing just inside the free-throw line – and, this is the strange thing – she is holding a ball, and she is in a shooting position – knees slightly bent, arms up, turned at the elbows, ball in her right hand, left supporting –

Satsuki pads silently forward; Riko leaps up off her toes, balanced perfectly, her shooting arm extending forward and up; the ball leaves her fingertips, sailing towards the basket in a perfect arc – and bounces off the rim. Riko stumbles as she lands, dropping to her hands and feet.

“Damn,” Riko swears, and she is assuming her stance again when Satsuki calls, “Hey, Coach,” and Riko drops her ball. It thuds, bounces, and rolls across the floor towards Satsuki.

“Satsuki?” Riko says, “why haven’t you gone home yet?”

Satsuki extends a toe to stop the ball from rolling too far out and bends to pick it up, idly dribbling in place.

“I didn’t know you played, Coach,” she says, eyes sparkling.

Riko frowns and crosses her arms. “I’m sure it’s obvious _I don’t_ ,” she says, and takes a deep breath in, breathing out through her mouth in a huff.

“Kuroko-kun didn’t mention – ” Satsuki begins, and Riko raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t play,” she repeats, “which is why he didn’t mention –”

Satsuki crosses her arms, too, mimicking Riko’s posture. “What’re you doing now, then?”, and Riko gives her one of her famous, incredulous looks, as if to say, _you need me to spell it out for you_? When Satsuki doesn’t budge, Riko says,

“I don’t play because I _can’t_ ,” and she jerks her head at the ball in Satsuki’s posession.

Satsuki says, “oh, this?,” and she holds the basketball at chest-height, between the palms of her hands, as if to pass it, “you’re too stiff,” and she pitches the ball at Riko, so that Riko has no choice but to catch it.

Riko’s shoulders slump. “We’re _not_ doing this,” she says emphatically, and Satsuki shakes her head, stalking after the ball – towards Riko.

“Yeah, we are,” and she stands behind Riko and places her hands on Riko’s shoulders, steering her towards the basket.

“Satsuki,” Riko begins, but Satsuki ignores her, prodding till Riko’s standing in the right place.

“Now, assume your shooting position,” Satsuki says, Riko’s hair brushing Satsuki’s cheek.

Riko huffs and complies, lifting the ball, elbows in, left hand only supporting, because she’s right-handed –

“Relax,” Satsuki pushes down on Riko’s shoulders, “you’re too tense, here,” and she gives a particularly hard thump, to make a point, “that’s why your shots fall short.”

Riko gives her a dubious glance over her shoulder. “You only saw me shoot once,” she says, “how can you tell –”

Satsuki smirks. “ _Relax_ ,” she repeats, in her most infuriating sing-song voice; Riko narrows her eyes and Satsuki laughs in her face. In a move demonstrating the evolution of their relationship, Riko’s scowl relaxes into something approaching fondness in response; she turns back to the basket, takes a deep breath, and Satsuki steps back to give her some space – but leaves her hands on Riko’s shoulders –

Riko shoots, and Satsuki knows the ball will go in before it hits the backboard and slips, cleanly, through the net; Riko stands, frozen, for a fraction of a second before spinning and launching herself at Satsuki with an ear-splitting shriek.

“Oh, God,” she yells, arms tight around Satsuki’s neck, “do you know that’s the _first freaking time_ ,” and Satsuki gingerly pats her back when Riko starts crying.

“You know,” Riko says afterward, when Satsuki is handing her a tissue to wipe the mascara blotches running down her face, “your hair smells like strawberry syrup.”

Satsuki gives her a bright smile. “I will take that as a compliment,” she says, “thank you, Riko-chan.”

***

Sometimes, they take the train home together. They don’t usually speak: mostly, they are too tired for words, but they’ll sit in adjacent seats and share earphones – Riko’s a fan of old-school rock, Satsuki likes hip-hop – and more often than not, Satsuki will fall asleep on Riko’s shoulder.

Riko gets off first; she’ll shake Satsuki awake and Satsuki will sit, bleary-eyed and regaining her bearings, while Riko stands, picks up her bag, throws her jacket across her shoulder – and by the time she’s making for the door, Satsuki will be awake enough to call:

“Bye, Coach,” grin, and wave; Riko will step nimbly down the steps, pause, turn, and say,

“Sure,” and then she will smile, a slow, soft, open smile, and say, “see ya, Satsuki.”

***

 

 

 

 

 

 

_end._


End file.
